


The Super Incredible Adventures of the Damselfly and the Spinner

by Endangered_Slug



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 2017 RSS Pinch Hit, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, But with feeling, Damselfly and the Spinner, F/M, Here they are again!, Superheroes, a fic of a fic, but it's my fic, holy cow that was a long time ago., ill-advised self indulgent nonsense, some romance because that's how I roll, super dorks, superhero
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 23:26:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13692039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endangered_Slug/pseuds/Endangered_Slug
Summary: Mild-mannered Belle French is a librarian by day, but by night she is The Damselfly, fighter of crime and doer of good. Her mission is to rid her small town of the evil Spinner who is determined to rule Storybrooke with an iron fist. 'Til now his every attempt to take over the town is thwarted by Damselfly, and if she wasn’t certain of the darkness inside, she would think that he was doing it on purpose just to see her… but that couldn’t be right. Why would The Spinner enjoy being beaten by her each and every time? Besides, her heart belonged to another man, the suave and handsome Mr. Gold, who always had a quip to lighten her day, but who never seems to look twice at her.It seemed things would never change for Belle. She would continue to fight the Spinner and pine after Mr. Gold who seemed unaware of her presence. Until one midnight a new villain came to town and The Damselfly found herself teaming up with The Spinner in order to save the day.Very, very loosely based on the romantic quadrangle happening over on The Miraculous Ladybug. Maybe if you squint you can see it.Written for the 2017 RSS  pinch hit(squared) for mirime-kisarrastine. My prompt was “loving his/her alter ego”





	The Super Incredible Adventures of the Damselfly and the Spinner

**Author's Note:**

> *waves* Hi!
> 
> Of course there’s a story behind the story. A long, long time ago (for another RSS, in fact) I sort of, kind of wrote a bug-themed superhero story called The Super Colossal Adventures of Damselfly and the Spinner (say it with an echo, it’s much more effective). However, when I first started it, I wavered between writing it as a superhero fic or writing it as an author finding his muse. It took weeks, but I finally I picked the later. You, my fine feathered friend, get the former. Because I’ve always wanted to write it. (You do not have to have read the original in order to get this one, but it's under my works on this site if you feel like reading) Minus 10 points from Hufflepuff because I used ‘orbs’ instead of ‘eyes’ and I am not even ashamed.

 

Months later, when she thought about it, Belle French couldn't say why she turned right instead of left after locking up the library for the night. Call it a gut feeling. Call it intuition. Maybe it was just the way the wind felt warmer against her cheek than it should have at that time of year. It smelled stronger, like the sharp tang of ozone after a lightning strike. Magic.

Magic was imbued in Storybrooke, the very nature of the town and how it was nestled into the ley lines of the earth made it a beacon for every wizard, witch, and trickster from miles around, but this was the kind of magic that punched her in the gut and forced her to respond. The kind that spelled out “danger” in twenty foot letters - all caps. The Spinner was here and, given past experience, he was up to no good.

Immediately on the alert, she slid back into the shadows of the protective overhang that led into the library, then, with a quick glance over her shoulder, activated her super suit.

It might have been an oversimplification, calling it a super suit, but hi-tech, biometric, hexosuit was just a tad bit clunky. It allowed her to go up into the Stratosphere for fifteen minutes and dive down to one hundred meters -- as long as she had her mini-rebreather attachment with her. The technology was a bit beyond Belle. It was blue, it fit her like a second skin, and it absorbed magic shocks, that’s all she needed to know.

Belle didn’t have magic per se, but she did have the ability to jump higher, run faster, heal quicker, and out-think everyone she’d ever run across. Everyone, that is, except for one man… at least she thought he was a man. Sometimes she wasn’t so sure.

Solidly encased in the protective layers of her disguise, she launched herself up to the top of the clock tower, scanning over the sleepy little town as she held onto the thin spire that poked up from the roof - a bit of copper that had long since turned a chalky green. It was quiet at this time of night. Most people were at their dinners or over at the Rabbit Hole for a cheap drink to wash away the taste of the work week.The wind had died down and the trace of magic that called to her was nothing more than a fine trail slowly dissipating into the night air. She couldn’t really see it of course, but magic always left a kind of fingerprint and it seemed to Belle that this particular print glittered in the moonlight. It was gold and it reeked of ancient, crumbly parchment and leaf mold and rum.

She sprung from her perch, and bounded from rooftop to rooftop as light as a cricket, following the trail to the docks where the seedier side of the town liked to conduct their questionable business practices. It led her to an old, dusty warehouse. In reality it was still and dark and quiet, but Belle’s super senses were attuned to the hidden magical world and, to her, it was like neon arrows pointing: “This Way to the Bad Guy.”

One of the reasons why she chose blue as her signature color -- other than the fact that she looked amazing in it -- was the fact that blues tended to blend into the shadows better than black. Black was easier to spot if you were trying to hide, She had the option to enable a stealth mode, but Belle’s sense of fairplay prevented her from using it. That was too much like sneaking and sneaking was what bad guys did. As Belle was not a bad guy, she merely concealed herself until she got the handle on the situation, learned who was doing what to whom… then she would pounce. Belle was sure there was a difference in the semantics somewhere.

It was easy to see what was happening now though -- there were enough strategically placed candles in the room. The Spinner, in all his leather clad, greeny gray skinned glory, was enacting a summoning spell. He was about halfway through drawing the outline, which glowed briefly before fading into mundane chalk. She could hear him muttering to himself, probably the arcane words he needed to complete the spell which would then unleash... something upon the small town. She was sure it would be hideous whatever it was. She should stop him before he finished.

“Not so fast, Spinner,” she called out before emerging from the corner in which she was hiding.

He paused halfway through a rune and rolled his eyes before tossing the stick of chalk away.  “You’re late, Damselfly,” he tittered in his strange, high-pitched voice. “Should have been here half an hour ago. I almost expected to finish my task tonight.” He unfolded from where he knelt on the concrete floor, the tight leather creaking as he stood up to his full height.

She shook her hair off her shoulders before striding bravely towards him. “Sorry, Spinner. I had better things to do than wait for you to rear your head.” She stood in front of him, nose to chin, and glared.

Hurt flashed across his face before he grinned a wide, black-toothed smile at her. “Naturally, you have other, more pressing matters to attend to. No doubt some boring suitor is waiting by the boring dinner he prepared, hoping you’ll come back to his love nest soon so you can be bored to sleep as he ruts against your leg.” He pressed against her until she felt the metal clasps of his jacket against her ribcage. They should have been cold, but they were warm. Blood warm.

She looked at him curiously. That was a weirdly personal thing to say to her. And, sad to say, he assumed she saw more action than she really did. Belle had no time for a personal life. Most of it was spent apprehending villains. Hell, she saw more of The Spinner than she did anyone else, but that was something she would never admit to  _him_.

She decided to ignore his strange quip and get on with business. “What’s your plan tonight, Spinner? Opening a portal? Again? Haven’t you done enough damage?”

He began to pace, hair bouncing madly with each step. He was clearly annoyed. “I wasn’t the one who let the Tharllbog in and you know it. I would never be so stupid as to leave a portal open because I needed a  _snack_.” He spun towards her, arms up and palms forward, readying his magic.

Belle knew he wasn’t the one who left the portal open that time (it was a foolish teen trying to impress another foolish teen with their flimsy knowledge of the occult), but she also knew that the accusation would get under his skin. And it certainly worked. She ducked into a rolling crouch as he threw a burst of magic at her. She was faster than he was, but he had some sort of second sight and knew where she would be at all times.

They were evenly matched, her with her speed and strength and he with his cunning and magic. Belle jumped and tumbled and backflipped away from his parries while he dodged and slapped at the laser riata she liked to use for defense.

They spun and bounced off each other until Belle found herself chest to chest with him, looking up into his bizarre eyes. His irises were an unusual color and larger than normal, but he looked at her curiously, as if she was a lover instead of his enemy.

It was strange, though, how often they met in battle. Almost routine now and, with all the other villains that popped up throughout the months, she really had no time for dating. A superhero’s life was a lonely one, but Belle thought if just one criminal was brought to justice she might finally be able to squeeze a love life into her schedule.

The Spinner’s remark about a boyfriend hit a bit below the belt and she wanted to slap his face for it because there was a man. A man she’d pined after for years in fact. He just didn’t feel that way about her. It stung. A lot. And she was just sexually frustrated enough to take it out on her foes.

They were both breathing hard and she could feel his breath ghosting over her face with every exhalation. It seemed he was awful close. She opened her mouth to say something cutting like, “my what bad breath you have,” but she was morally against lying and his breath smelled like he finished an entire tin of Altoids before she arrived.

“Who are you,” he whispered, his undisguised voice hoarse and seemingly stuck in his throat.

“The one who will bring you down, Spinner,” she replied almost as if by rote. “That’s all you--”

She was abruptly cut off by his lips pressed against hers and it took her a moment to realize what was happening. He was kissing her. Kissing!  _Her_! With his  _lips_!

Her eyes widened and she let out a muffled squeak that he sipped from her like ambrosia. His eyes, those strange otherworldly orbs, had squeezed shut and he stood stiffly as if he knew she was about to slam all of her strength into his solar plexus and he was merely bracing himself until he was lying like an upturned beetle on the floor.

It was probably shock that held her fast to him. Or maybe it was the fact that she hadn’t been kissed in so long that she’d forgotten what it even was until it was happening, but something inside her sparked and ignited within her until she she was leaning into him, her own eyes fluttering shut as she let herself go for once and feel. He relaxed against her with a soft sigh, his breath mingling with hers until she tasted mint.

The brush of his tongue against the seam of her lips snapped her out of whatever spell he’d put her under and she shoved him away with a cry of disgust. He staggered away from her with a whimpered curse.

“What the-- Hell?” she spat out, rubbing at her lips with her sleeve. Not the most mature thing to do, but she was too stunned to react rationally.

He straightened up, breathing heavily, his face wild and fraught until he gathered his wits together managing to look all offended dignity. As if  _he_ was the wounded party. He peered down his nose at her. “It’s called a kiss, Dearie,” he sang out, wagging a ragged nailed finger at her. “It was meant to shut you up.”

That spark the kiss had ignited burned in her belly now. She was an inferno of righteous indignation and she channeled that until the power that lay just beneath the surface of her skin boiled out and blew through her fingers. She was furious at herself for letting The Spinner get close and irritated with  _him_ for his boldness. But worse of all, she’d liked it entirely too much and that’s what pushed her over the edge.

Belle unleashed everything until the only thing left standing was herself. The Spinner had disappeared into a puff of smoke the color of a bruise the second she opened her hands.  

Belle stood there in shock, weak lightning bolts dripping from her fingertips as she wondered what just happened when the crash of an I-beam startled her out of her reverie. She could still feel the tingling of his lips on hers and she wondered if he’d poisoned her somehow. The Kiss of Death or something even more sinister, but as dazed as she felt, she still had all her faculties, all her powers.  

He’d just kissed her. For the hell of it.

_Why_?

Her shoulders slumped with exhaustion. Allowing her power go full force like that drained her energy levels until she was shaking and ready to collapse. If a bad guy chose that moment to strike, Storybrooke would be on its own. She had nothing left. The mere act of thinking made her left eyelid twitch and her hair hurt.

Belle deactivated her suit and trudged home, thankful that the town was pretty small for being such a haven for supervillains, making a mental note to find out about the owner of the warehouse so she could make amends. She hated when she was responsible for destroying personal property and tried to repair any damage she caused. The night’s escapade wasn’t even worth the paperwork, but she would force herself to do it anyway. In the morning.

Her premiums would double, but that was a risk she took on when she signed up for superhero insurance. At least she had the ability to make things right.

Belle’s solitary fortress consisted of two rooms and a bath on top of the library, but it was cozy and there was a pint of Ben and Jerry’s waiting for her. At least she had a lovely view.

Belle took out the ice cream and found a bent spoon then sat in the window seat that overlooked Main Street, snuggling into the battered and frayed pillow. As she pried the lid off to reveal the Cherry Garcia goodness inside, she glanced out the window towards Mr. Gold’s Pawn Shop and Antiquities just across the street. There was no sign of the dashing Mr. Gold or his car. He’d gone home for the night. It was another check mark in the Be Annoyed at The Spinner column. If he hadn’t started messing with the forces of evil, then she might have seen Mr. Gold. Oh no, that sounded terrible so Belle rephrased it in her mind: she would have watched over him to ensure his safety. It wasn’t  _stalking_ , it was  _protecting_. Surely there was a concrete difference. She was obviously doing her duty. That she only did her duty for this one person out of the whole town was entirely beside the point. Certainly he would understand should he ever look up every once in a while.

Resigned that she would not glimpse Mr. Gold that night, she dug into her ice cream with as much enthusiasm as her exhausted body could muster.

Belle couldn’t even begin to say why she was so attracted to the mysterious Mr. Gold. He was certainly good looking, but plenty of men were more conventionally handsome. None of those other men had Gold’s soulful eyes though or his warm Scottish burr that seemed specifically designed to curl her toes. He was wealthy, but money never interested her. If it had, she would have charged the town a larger fee whenever she brought down a bad guy. She knew he was smart because he would sometimes check out heavy books written by people with expensive letters tacked on behind their names. Although, now that she thought of it, that only proved that he knew how to use his library card more than anything. She couldn’t explain _why_ she liked him, she just did. A lot.

Plus, he had a wicked smile and a cute butt.

It was the fleeting glimpses of him entering and leaving his workplace and his weekly trips into her library that made it all worthwhile. Well, almost. It would be infinitely more worth her while if he noticed her. Like, ever.

She ate until she was scraping the bottom of the carton, then, feeling a bit more rejuvenated thanks to the excess of fruit and sugar, she tidied up the kitchen before collapsing on bed with a long groan.

She tried to think of her books. She thought about the reference system catalog and how it desperately needed updating. She thought about the ingredients of her ice cream and why they tasted so delicious when they were so hard to pronounce. She thought of Mr. Gold and his jawline and the way it was never smoothly shaved and yet he never had a beard and why was that? But it was all for naught. Her thoughts continually strayed back to The Spinner and that kiss.

It wasn’t even much of a kiss. It was chaste and surprisingly sweet and she’d stopped it before it got out of hand. But a part of her, the secret part that yearned for the taste of darkness, wanted to know what The Spinner felt like underneath all that leather and what sort of noises he would make if she’d just let go for once in her life. Was his hair as soft as it looked? Was it as soft as, say, hypothetically speaking and giving a random example, Mr. Gold’s? Not that she knew first hand what Mr. Gold’s hair felt like. But, it looked soft. And silky. And the shade was nearly the same as the Spinner’s.

A kernel of an idea planted itself as she thought of Mr. Gold and The Spinner, but she mercifully slipped into sleep before it took root.

 

* * *

 

 

Belle woke up, bleary-eyed and with a headache. The day was annoyingly bright and cheerful and full of birds screaming. She lay in bed, staring at a crack that ran up her wall before she remembered that it was Thursday and Mr. Gold would be in to exchange his books.

Now wide awake and kicking the covers away from her legs, she was a woman on a mission. A mission to look as deadly gorgeous as possible. She’d had her wardrobe planned out for a week. A crisp white blouse just thin enough to be suggestive of bare skin underneath, but not quite see through to the point where she’d be labeled the town harlot. She left the top three buttons undone. Then she squeezed into a tight black pencil skirt with a long slit up the back. Towering, patent leather pumps on her feet and fire engine red lipstick to draw attention to her mouth completed the ensemble and she admired the picture she made in the mirror behind her bathroom door.

So far, Mr. Gold hadn’t displayed any latent naughty librarian fantasy kinks, but he mostly kept to himself and he did come back every week so maybe it was just well hidden. Hidden underneath his expensive wool suits and soft silk shirts and imported ties… Would he let her wear one if she asked, Belle wondered before she caught herself short.

Oh god help her, she had a naughty pawn shop owner kink. Did that make her a pervert? A perverted stalker with a savior complex? Should she call up Archie and finally begin her long put off therapy? He’d have a field day when she brought up Mr. Gold’s cane and the things she’d like to do to it.

Groaning in dismay, she stripped it all off again, tossing the clothes into a corner of her room, then she donned a rosebud colored blouse and brown tweed skirt. Safe. Sturdy. Utterly inoffensive. She kept the shoes on because they made her legs look incredible. Her super suit was hidden within her belt, to be activated by pressing the clasp or, if her hands were otherwise occupied, she could give a verbal signal that would trigger its release. So far, she’d never had to use the command, but she knew it was only a matter of time.

She’d been at work for three hours -- regretting her shoes with each passing minute -- before Mr. Gold finally made his appearance. Belle had been busy researching who it was that owned the warehouse from last night’s tussle so she could finish filling out her insurance claims when he strode in carrying last week’s books.

She looked up at the sound of the soft chime and immediately sat up. Last night’s aches and pains were gone at the sight of that wry smile and crinkling soft brown eyes. If she was younger, she would have giggled, but, as she was now at the ripe old age of thirty-two, she only brightened like a puppy and smiled hopefully at him.

She gave herself points for not drooling. It was a small victory.

“Good morning, Mr. Gold,” she said as she took the books from him, touching the side of his hand briefly with the tip of her finger as the books slid from his grasp. “How did you like Whitman?”

Mr. Gold pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Very pastoral. Nearly made me want to go for a walk,” he quipped, holding up his gold handled cane.

Mmmmmmm… The accent helped.

Belle grinned up at him. She may have even batted her eyelashes. Maybe. It was hard to tell because everything seemed to be in a fog when he was near. “That would have been tragic, Mr. Gold, being inspired to go for a walk. Especially alone.”

He frowned at her thoughtfully and Belle remembered that she was working and she was flirting. Badly.

She cleared her throat, feeling a blush begin to creep up. “Ahhh… Perhaps I can assist you in finding something else?” she said, already pushing her chair back so she could join him.

He held up a hand, already walking towards the reference section. “No need, Miss French. I know my way around.”

“Let me know if you need any help,” she called after him a bit wistfully, watching him walk away. Again.

He was gone, there was no one waiting to check out a book or ask a question, so she went back to the county’s property search.

Fifteen minutes later, Mr. Gold appeared again, this time as a shadow blocking the fluorescent lighting overhead. He set two heavy books and a slim volume of poetry onto the counter, with his library card placed neatly on top. His entire name was printed in five letters: R. Gold.

No one knew what the “R” stood for. No one dared to ask.

Belle peered at the book of poems. “Christina Rossetti?” she asked, lifting her eyebrows in surprise. “I never took you for a fan of goblin tales, Mr. Gold.”

He shrugged in self deprecation. “I’m a man with many interests, Miss French. And today, the lost and forgotten interest me.”

“'Better by far that you should forget and smile than you should remember and be sad,”’ Belle quoted from another one of Rossetti’s poems, stamping the book before placing it on top of the others with a fond smile. Her breath hitched when she caught his expression. His eyes, normally a soft brown, were dark now and they pierced through her with more feeling than she’d ever elicited from him with her low cut blouses or short, flirty skirts.

Taking a deep breath, she took chance by the ears. She would never get anywhere with Mr. Gold if she cowered behind her desk. _Do the brave thing_ , she told herself. “Um. I was planning on going for a walk tonight,” she blurted, her face turning so red she could see her own cheeks glowing. “I’d be happy to have you join me. If you were still inspired that is.”

He seemed surprised by her offer, standing there with his hand hovering over his small stack of books. He said nothing. Just stared. And blinked.

Oh god, she was going to die. He wasn't answering and she was going to _die_. She wished her computer would just suck her right into the void so she wouldn’t have to bear this humiliation any longer.

It seemed like he would never stop staring at her, his expression unreadable. All Belle knew was that it took him ages to answer -- she could hear the ticking of the clock as the second hand moved ever forward, the sound of a bomb about to go off. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last and he almost sounded regretful.

Boom.

“I have a prior engagement tonight.”

The smile froze on her face as she blinked away the hot tears that pricked at her eyes. She swallowed, then asked, a bit too brightly. “Hot date?”

His lips quirked into a smile and he gazed over her head with eyes that softened with warmth. “Something like that.”

She looked down, blinking rapidly, feeling her stomach twist into a painful knot. “I didn’t realize you were seeing someone, Mr. Gold. Anyone I know?” She glanced back at him feeling like a fool. She felt like throwing up. Stupid! Stupid! Why did she open her stupid mouth?

“Well…  _Seeing_ is an oversimplification, Miss French. But, I don’t think you know her.” He paused, his mouth open as if he wanted to say more, but he shut it, shaking his head wryly. “Good night.”

It took her every ounce of will to keep the god awful smile plastered to her face, but she did it. He slid the books off the counter and tucked them under his arm before walking away without a backwards glance.

“I hope you have a nice time, Mr. Gold,” she called after him. She could be upset, but she wasn’t going to be a bitch about it.

He paused, halfway out the door and looked back. “Thank you, Miss French. I expect it will be one for the books,” he said, holding his stack up in support of the pun.

His eyes sparkled with anticipation… of what Belle could only guess. An uneasy feeling settled around her heart and it took her a moment to realize what it was. Jealousy. Heart ripping, bellyaching jealousy.

Belle watched him all the way until he disappeared inside his shop before she turned her attention back to the computer in front of her. What was she…? Oh, right. The insurance. She clicked on another couple of slow loading links before she found the name of the person listed as the owner: R. Gold.

 

* * *

 

 

The town was quiet and peaceful and Belle resented every happy family she saw in every window pane as she patrolled the streets, just itching for a fight. Where was The Spinner when she needed him? She had been counting on him to show up so she could get rid of the pent up aggression that was eating at her guts.

A poster of The Damselfly admonishing children to eat their vegetables was plastered on the wall outside the pediatrician’s. A billboard showed her extolling the virtues of using their turn signal. She even had one inside the library urging people to read more books.

When she gained her powers Belle thought that she would be doing some actual good, not small town public service announcements. And for what? The town was pretty much safe without her. Even her arch nemesis was mild in comparison to those terrorizing the big cities. Small towns get small villains and small heroes and she was beginning to regret ever signing up for the gig. She was rarely even thanked even when something big happened.

She tsked loudly, startling a small furry creature that was hiding in a bush. She only had two men in her life and somehow they  _both_ managed to disappoint her in one day. Typical.

The town, silent as the grave and just as exciting, slowly went to sleep and Belle stood on her tower above the library, watching as the warm lights blinked out one by one. She turned her head to where Mr. Gold’s house was situated. She couldn’t see it, but it was nearing midnight and she imagined he’d turned in, too. He might even have company staying the night. She could go check -- just to make sure that he was okay and that his date didn’t do anything terrible like, say, make him the happiest man on earth.

She sighed in defeat. As much as she itched to burst into Gold’s house and drag the unknown woman away by her hair, Belle only wanted his happiness. And if that happiness was meant to be in the arms of another woman, then she would make damn well sure that’s what would happen.

Belle turned away from the quiet neighborhoods and their placid civilians and headed to the docks, where something was bound to be happening, even if it was just someone illegally parked.

The tide was up thanks to the nearly full moon that hung low in the clear sky and Belle sat alone on a rooftop watching the water ripple in the moonlight. It was romantic, or it would be if there was someone to share it with. It was a good place to think at least. About her jobs and the lack of any kind of social life let alone a love life and how being a hero wasn’t all she thought it would be. It just took up all of her time, which wouldn’t be so bad if there was some appreciation. And then there was Mr. Gold, who barely knew she existed beyond the library. She’d fallen for him, hard, but now she wondered if she’d fallen for the man or if it was because he was essentially unattainable and, therefore, safely off limits. She wanted a partner, a true one she could trust, but not even her books could tell her how to find one. At least not realistically.

There were other cities she could go to. She’d always wanted to see the world -- those far off places she’d read about in her books. Maybe she could freelance. Becoming a traveling superhero sounded really appealing. She’d travel light and work for expenses. After the day’s disappointments, it sounded more and more appealing. She’d have to deal with The Spinner first. Either defeat him once and for all or work out some sort of truce. She wouldn’t leave Storybrooke defenseless just because she got bored.

She was so deep in thought that she almost missed it. The ripples along the bay, at first mesmerizing with their gentle movements, began to grow large and rough until Belle noticed that the building she was perched upon was shaking down to its foundations.

Something was happening out there. Something big and dangerous.

Belle hopped up, all her senses tuned to whatever it might be. She sniffed at the air, but all she could smell was the tang of salt. There was no magic involved. At least none that she was familiar with.

A deep, resonating laugh emerged from the watery depths and Belle sprang down to the wharf just in time to watch it disappear from underneath her feet. But, instead of landing on the jagged outcropping below, she was caught in the surprisingly strong arms of The Spinner who poofed in to catch her and then poofed out again once she was in his arms.

They appeared behind one of the many, many destroyed warehouses a stone’s throw away.

She lay there in his arms, allowing him to cradle her while she stared in shock at what he just did. He could have let her fall. It wouldn’t have killed her after all. Hurt, sure, but she’d be fine eventually. He looked just as stunned as she did, his mouth hanging open as if he was about to give a quip but he’d forgotten what it was he was going to say.

His face was close to hers and she wondered if he was going to try to kiss her again and, if he did, if she would let him. She thought she might.

“Uh... Thank you. For saving me,” she told him, ever mindful of her manners, searching his eyes for some clue about his reasoning.

The sound of a boat being tossed onto the street snapped them out of it. He dropped her like a hot potato and she landed on her feet, stumbling a bit from the hasty dismount.

There was another crash, the shrieking accompanied by the rending of old, damp wood against more old, damp wood and suddenly, Belle remembered why she was there.

The town was under attack and whoever it was meant business. They ran towards the commotion, which was easy enough. All they had to do was follow the sound of the wailing car alarms and splintering wood until they found… nothing.

The creature had disappeared, but the water was churning where it dove down. It was probably swimming out to sea where she would lose it. She’d have to find it before it tried to destroy another town.

The Spinner followed her.

She looked over, surprised. “You’re coming?”

He nodded, grimly. “Whatever that is, whoever that is, is big. You might need help.”

Belle stopped in her tracks. She’d never received help before. Had never thought to ask for it, especially from someone she’d spent most of her time thwarting. She wasn’t entirely sure she could trust him, but she also wasn’t entirely sure what she was up against. Better the devil you know, she figured and she nodded her head to show her consent.

They looked at each other warily. He pulled a bundle from some hidden pocket. Half a heartbeat later she brought her own device, thumbing it on. Silently, they agree never to mention them once this is all over.

In the distance she could hear the approaching sounds of the police and emergency services.

Belle’s device bingled, telling her that it was powered up and she was able to use its tracking abilities to locate the new menace, roughly five kilometers away, give or take -- the mechanism was a prototype and she was still working out the bugs.

The Spinner, meanwhile, unrolled the bundle, selecting a couple of long metal picks from the velvet lined pockets.

“You’re going to pick locks?” Belle asked, incredulously. “Now?”

“No, Dearie,” he said with a tittering giggle. “I’m going to steal a boat.”

She began to swell with indignation.

“And you’re going to help me,” he added with glee before running off ahead of her.

He was faster than she thought possible given his two inch heels and the treacherous way the dock was bobbing in the water, but she was right behind him, glancing down at her tracker every few seconds to make sure the new villain was still in port. It would be so easy to lose them and then she’d really have her work cut out for her. Some heroes were so picky about their jurisdictions and she didn't want to step on anyone's boots.

“That one,” Belle called out pointing towards a fast looking boat with a big motor in the back. She knew the owner. He was a part of her adult literacy program at the library and she promised herself that she would buy him a bigger, better boat if anything should happen to The Astrid during the chase.

The Spinner gave a maniacal twittering laugh.

Maybe she’d have to buy two boats.

The Spinner hopped on board, scuffing the deck with his shoes, and beelined toward the wheel. It took him only a matter of seconds to get the engine running, a fact that Belle filed away for future reference and she leapt on board just as they pulled away. Or they would have if the lines weren’t still wrapped around the cleats on the dock.

Belle snapped them apart like cobwebs and, now that they were clear, they raced to follow the phosphorescent trail that led them away from Storybrooke.

“Do you have any idea who this is?” Belle shouted, squinting her eyes against the wind whipping at her face.

“None,” he growled. “But they showed up just as I was preparing my latest portal, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to rip them apart piece by piece.”

She did mind. Very much so, but seeing as how he was driving the boat, she would pretend she didn’t hear him.

The creature led them straight to Pirate’s Bay just on the other side of the town line.

Belle technically wasn’t supposed to be operating here, but she could always plead an emergency if she got called out on it. She wouldn't even be lying about it.

The Spinner cut the engine at the last second, turning the wheel until the boat skidded up onto the rocky shore -- destroying the hull and the engine in the process. Belle anticipated the crash and jumped as soon as the boat left the water, somersaulting over the railing to give a Superhero Landing™. It was expected of her.

The Spinner, who had poofed onto a rocky outcropping gave her an enthusiastic round of applause. “Perfect score, Damselfly. I love watching you do that. But don’t forget to --   _Watch out_!”

Tentacles. Slimy, thick, black tentacles smelling like rotten fish wrapped around her waist and lifted her up, high above his head. She’d have to burn her suit when she got home.

“You could have warned me,” she yelled, squirming in the monster’s grip. She could cut through it, but she didn’t know if that was the wise choice just yet. Its blood might be acidic. The creature itself might be reasoned with -- maybe. She didn’t like to resort to violence right off the bat.

The tentacle squeezed.

Then again, violence was looking like a viable choice with each passing minute.

“I  _did_ ,” he called back, looking beyond her towards where the tentacles came from. The cave was inky black and smelled of old seaweed. “Just… hang on.” He scrambled down from his perch and disappeared into it.

“Oh. Ha ha. Very funny,” she muttered. “Ow! Hey! Watch where you’re putting that!” She slapped a probing tip away from her. “Spinner! Where did you go?”

She slapped and punched and kicked at the tentacle trying to cop a feel. It felt like it was spring loaded. Every time she knocked it away, it came right back. Irritated now and feeling violated, she grabbed the thick limb that was trying to squeeze the life out of her and detonated it. She fell, gasping for air, and all but staggered to her feet.

There was an ear-piercing shriek -- the ululations of a hyperactive dolphin -- as the stub curled in on itself, dragging a deep trench in the beach. Belle followed it.

The Spinner was just inside looking truly annoyed.

“She didn’t have to do that,” the owner of the tentacle said, petting at the raw end of the appendage.

“Oh for-- it’ll grow back,” he retorted.

“It still hurts!”

“What! Is going on?” Belle bit out, her hands firmly on her hips. Her super suit felt slimy now.

The creature wailed. “You cut off one of my arms!”

“You were trying to do things to me only people with certain privileges could do,” Belle retorted, readying for an attack.

The Spinner looked intrigued, but before he could say something that would get his face slapped, the creature fully emerged from the shadows.

It was a woman, or at least it was female from the waist up. From the waist down Belle counted seven and a half tentacles. She’d never seen anyone like her before. “Who are you,” she asked, her chin held high. “And why are you here? Why did you destroy the wharf? Why did you--"

“So many questions and we’ve only just met,” the woman sneered. “My name is Ursula and I’m here about a little mermaid.”

The Spinner made a face, checking with Belle. “We have no mermaids in Storybrooke.”

The woman smiled dangerously. “That’s what you think. You think you’re the only one with secrets? She’s there. I can smell her.”

They had nothing to say to that. If there was a mermaid hiding in town, they would be the last people to disclose where she would be even if they knew who she was.

“What business do you have with her,” Belle asked, stepping away from another wavering arm that got too close.

“My business is mine. You should butt out before I squish you for what you did to my beautiful arm.”

“I can’t do that if you mean to do harm.” She waited for a second then elbowed The Spinner in the side.

He jumped, rubbing his ribs. “Yes. Injustice and... And for the good of all,” he said, half-heartedly.

“And the two of you plan on stopping me from carving out her tongue?” Ursula threw her head back and cackled. “You two? Against the  _Sea Witch_?”

Belle’s eyes narrowed at the mention of cutting out tongues, but the mocking was just too much. She sprang away, using the wall as leverage to pounce on the witch’s back and began yanking at her hair.

The moment she broke away The Spinner powered up two handfuls of fireballs and launched them towards Ursula’s encroaching tentacles.

“Cost me hours of preparation,” he yelled. “And for what? Petty revenge? You stupid sea bitch!”

Belle paused mid-pull. Even in their worst fights, he’d never insulted her like that. Whatever this witch interrupted, it was truly important. It looked like she’d get no sleep at all after they finished her off. She’d have to follow him and stop whatever dastardly deed he was planning. Damn. And she was running low on ice cream.

At least The Spinner’s fireballs gave out some light and Belle was able to see what they were dealing with.

Ursula -- the Sea Witch -- was massive. A lot of sea creatures were of course, but she was mightily glad of having The Spinner’s help otherwise this would have taken hours.

Ursula managed to grab Belle by the leg, dangling her over her head in an attempt to dash out Belle’s brains against the floor. The Spinner, seeing Ursula’s intent, shot off fireball after fireball until, unable to dodge them any longer, the witch simply dropped Belle in a heap.

Belle got right back up, a bit dizzy from all that whipping around, but ready to fight. She could feel her power at her fingertips, but found herself in the awkward position of not wanting to hit The Spinner who was in the way. She’d have to flit in, let loose a barrage of sonic energy, grab The Spinner, and get out when the calamari began to fall.

That was the plan.

Instead, what happened was The Spinner stubbornly refused to let her get close to the witch and it was beginning to annoy Belle. How could she do her job if he insisted on protecting her?

She ran around, trying to find an opening, but The Spinner had been holding back during their own fights and now she could see that there was more to his arsenal than she knew. No matter how fast she ran, no matter how high she jumped, he refused to let her pass. She didn’t know how he did it. Or why. Or what the deal was, but it did give her the time to analyze the Sea Witch and find a weakness.

Belle smiled when she saw it. A shell pendant dangling from a thin necklace around Ursula’s neck. It glowed with power and Belle was willing to bet that if it was destroyed, the witch would be rendered helpless. It was worth a shot at least.

“Spinner!”

He glanced at her after lobbing another fireball at Ursula’s face. “I’m  _busy_!” he called out.

She scooted behind him. “Her necklace,” she said, pointing. “I think that’s where we need to hit. You have to let me through, I can’t do my job if I’m back here.”

He tensed up, but then he stepped aside with a mock bow, firing another flaming ball over his shoulder. “As you wish.”

“Oh don’t give me that,” she told him as she ran past. At last, she had some freedom of movement! Getting to the necklace was a piece of cake. Prying it off, however, was another matter. Belle yanked at it, dodging angry limbs trying to smack her head off, but it just wouldn’t budge.

“Blast!” Belle said, frustrated that her brilliant plan was failing spectacularly. “This stupid mermaid had better be worth it or so help me I’m going to get a boning knife and--”

The necklace parted with a ‘click’ and Belle tumbled down a writhing limb onto the cave floor. The witch screamed in anger, reaching out with all seven and a half tentacles to rip her apart.

Belle threw the necklace up just as The Spinner set his fireballs at it. The shell burst into bits of glitter that coated the cave and with a hoarse wail, Ursula shrank in on herself until there was nothing left but an oozy black puddle.

It was all a bit anticlimactic.

She was bent over with her hands on her knees, panting heavily. She glanced over at her erstwhile partner. He was in just as rough a shape as she was. She decided to forget about the portal thing. At least for tonight.

He looked at her warily as if waiting for her to start fighting him now that the witch was gone.

Instead she merely said a bit breathlessly, “You have a beautiful gift, Spinner. You should use it for good.”

He quirked his head at her, lifting an eyebrow in amusement. “But you like me more when I’m bad.”

 

* * *

 

 

She tracked him down two days later after scouring the county’s property records. The last structure Mr. R. Gold owned that was still standing: his home.

“Not a moment’s peace,” he muttered, throwing a candle down when she appeared with a sudden crack of the doorframe. “Can’t even finish one thing before you pop up like a damned blue daisy to annoy me.”

“Careful,” she retorted. “You almost sound resentful.”

He shook his head, silently laughing at her. “Never resentful to see you, Dearie. But it would be nice to finish my work sometimes,” he said, a bit testily.

“Your work would level the entire town,” she pointed out.

He regarded her, eyes glittering with unspoken secrets. “Sometimes sacrifices must be made. I’m a desperate man, Damselfly. And desperate men do dangerous things.”

Sometimes they kissed a woman without warning.

Belle cocked her head at him. “You’re so desperate for destruction? Why? Why would you risk everyone?” She strode forward, her palms out to show him that she meant no harm.

He looked at her, looked through her as if wondering how much he could trust her. At last he took a deep, shuddering breath before croaking out, “I lost my son.”

Belle’s heart and her hands dropped as her default, socially awkward mechanism kicked in. She started babbling. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you even had a son. I didn’t know you were married. What happened? How old is he? Was he killed by a rival? Was he sick? Can I bring you a casserole?” She snapped her jaw shut with a loud click, slapping her hands over her mouth to keep anything even more stupid from pouring out.

He stared at her in exasperation, hands on his hips and head tilted as if she was a crooked bit of art hung on the wall. “I didn’t say he was  _dead_. I said he was  _lost_. There is a difference.”

This did not clear things up. “You misplaced your son?”

“He fell through a portal. Or rather, he was pulled through. I’m still not sure which and I’ve been trying to find out for years. And I’m not married,” he added, quickly.

Belle’s stomach joined her heart down in the pit of her bowels and she felt ill. How many times did she prevent him from opening up a portal? A dozen? Maybe two dozen. And he was just trying to find his son.

“Why did you never tell me?” she gasped, wrapping her arms around her waist. She was going to vomit all over his carefully drawn runes and that would be one more portal she’d destroyed. She searched his face for answers, but he’d gone blank.

“If I did that you’d leave me alone.” His tone was light, but he looked down at his hands, refusing to meet her eyes.

“You’re lonely,” she realized suddenly.

He glanced up at her then, eyes pleading. “Aren’t  _you_?”

She was. She could admit that to herself at least, but she was so used to it that loneliness barely even registered anymore. She swallowed any answer she might have given and asked the next obvious question. “Why stay in Storybrooke then? If you didn’t want my help, why not go somewhere without a hero?”

He blinked twice then resumed his normal impish facade. “Magic is different here,” he said, rubbing his thumb against his forefinger. “Every town has some, but here it’s much more pronounced, much more… accessible. You can practically smell it in the air.”

“Oh.” Belle said, awkwardly, scratching the back of her neck. “I actually… Uh, I actually thought that was you.”

“What? The magic?” He actually sounded amused.

“Yes. It’s like…” She closed her eyes and breathed in deep. “A lightning strike? Some parchment and spicy, dark rum. It’s all around the town, but even more so when you attack.” She opened her eyes and noticed him staring in fascination. “Sorry. I realize now that you weren’t attacking. Most of the time.”

His eyes lingered on her face for a moment before he turned away with a shrug. “It’s no matter. Something would have attacked eventually.” He fiddled with the bottom of his vest, rolling the point up into a tight cylinder, up and down, up and down. “It smells different for me, you know. Like dusty books and ice cream and…” He glanced at her quickly before moving away.  “Bravery.”

She cocked her head, more curious than ever. “Bravery has a scent?”

“Everything has a scent, Dearie.”

“Don’t call me Dearie.”

“My apologies,” he said with a mocking bow. “Ms. Fly, then?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to offer up her name - her real name, but she knew that would end in disaster. His cause was noble - if he was telling the truth - but he was still a villain. Still against everything she stood for and she could not risk her secret identity or the town’s safety just because she was feeling sorry for The Spinner. She mustn’t forget who he was.

Who he was, her conscious whispered accusingly, is a father desperate to be reunited with his son.

“Of course you realize all that portal nonsense was merely a ruse.”

“Yeah, I got that. What I don’t understand is why. Why go through that night after night week after week. We’ve been doing this for three years. Aren’t you tired?”

He glanced away with a wry look. Belle saw him swallow, the sharp nub of his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he worked out an answer.

“I had many reasons to pester you, none of them you’d like. You can be assured that after tonight, if everything goes as it should, you won’t see me again.”

A week ago Belle would have rejoiced. She would have crowed and rubbed her glee in his face. But now, after everything they went through and everything she learned about him, she was sorry. Three years was such a long time to fight someone only to find out that maybe her cause wasn’t as noble as she thought. And maybe the villain wasn’t actually bad, but desperate. So desperate that he didn’t think anyone would help him. Not even the town’s superhero.

Did that make her the bad guy?

He gave her a half-hearted smile and turned away, striding towards a heavy drop cloth that was covering something tall and slender. Ever the showman, he whipped the cloth away with a flourish and let it fall behind him dramatically to reveal a regular full length mirror on a stand.

“Do you do that every night?” Belle asked in amusement, watching as the cloth settle on the floor.

“Just for you,” he said, eyes twinkling at her, before turning towards the mirror, his arms held wide as if he was about to conduct an orchestra. “This is the real portal. The one I’ve been working on and feeding carefully for all these years.

Belle looked at him sharply. “ _Feeding_?”

“Magic, Dearie” he said, the corners of his mouth curling up in a smirk. “Nothing more sinister than that.”

“And your son is on the other side of this portal?”

“I believe so.”

“What if he isn’t?”

“Then, my sweet Damselfly, you shall see what it’s like for a man to truly go mad and find out exactly what I can do with my power.” His eyes glittered dangerously in the mirror.

“Then I hope, for your sake and for everyone in this town, that he’s there.”

He looked over his shoulder at her, wide-eyed and a little nervous. “Me, too.”

His eyes, still strange and alien, looked at her mournfully. She went to his side and grabbed his hand in hers, squeezing it to let him know that she was staying by his side.

It felt strange to hold his hand -- his palm was dry and rough, but it was warm and felt good. Like it  _fit_. Like  _they_ fit.

He stood there a moment, staring at their entwined fingers before giving her a nervous laugh. “Sorry. I’m just not used to having anyone touch me.”

“Yeah. Me too,” she said, giving him a shy, fleeting smile.

His eyes widened and it looked as if he was about to say something, but mercifully, he thought better of it and turned his attention to the mirror -- the portal.

He spoke, his voice once again undisguised and his true accent slid into place. She remembered the silly idea she’d had a week ago just before she passed out in exhaustion. She closed her eyes and let herself feel the way his voice washed over her. It was so familiar. She should have known. Should have guessed it long ago, but her eyes refused to let her really see what was in front of her all along. His voice wrapped around her, pierced through her heart in shafts of… gold.

“It will be easier with you here,” he said, almost to himself. “The portal feeds on magic. My magic, yours, the town itself. You’d be surprised at all the tiny little places you can discover it hiding. The waterfront is practically stuffed full if you know where to look. Those tiny little craigs at low tide practically glow with it. You’ve never seen it?”

Belle thought of the warehouses along the docks and the abandoned shacks set off the beach -- all owned by one person. She’d never actually fought The Spinner in town. Only by the water. Why had she never noticed?

Her lips were dry now from her soft panting. “I don’t actually have magic,” she murmured. “I rely on technology more than anything.”

She felt him give a short huff of a laugh. “You have more magic in you than you know. There’s all kind of magic. I’ve spent years studying it and honing my abilities and it takes all shapes and forms. Revenge, hatred, jealousy, despair… these all have magic in them. But the most powerful magic of all is love.”

She was surprised at his answer. “Really? Love? That seems so cliché.”

“Love is the most powerful magic there it. It haunts us, drives us, leads us to places we can only dream of. Drag us through our worst nightmares. But most of all, it gives us hope. Especially when all hope is lost.”

She could imagine he’d felt hopeless for a long time. “What is it that you love?” she asked.

“I love my son,” he said with a quirk of his lips. “And I love…” His strange, wide eyes roamed over her face, searching. “Many things.”

“Just  _things_?”

“No,” he said and Belle could hear the amusement in his voice. “Not just things.”

There was an unspoken confession there, but this was neither the time or the place. Belle didn’t think she was ready to hear it or to confess her own secrets just now.

“What’s your son’s name?” she said before she lost the nerve.

“Baelfire,” he whispered. “His name is Baelfire.”

“That’s a… a good name. I hope to meet him.” She meant it.

He gave her a grateful look then turned away, all his quips and humor gone now as he regarded the mirror. He placed his hands on either side of it and spoke one word: “Open.”

Belle didn’t know how she could help or what magic she possessed that he might need, but she was there and she would see it through to the end.

The mirror began to waver, then expanded, growing wider until it was large enough to drive an old Volkswagen through and she could make out a black void beyond the purple shimmer around the stretched frame. There was nothing there and she felt her heart drop for her friend, feeling his loss keenly. His son was lost forever. He would go mad and she would have to destroy him before he went on a rampage. Her face was cold and damp and it was then that she realized she was crying. She wished with all her might that Baelfire was home right now. She wanted it more than anything in the world and she grabbed at The Spinner’s hand in desperation, clutching at it in a bone crushing grip.

The portal bulged when their fingers touched and the scenery shifted from black to green. There was a wood, dark and ancient. The scent of damp moss managed to find its way through, filling the room with its primordial magic.

She couldn’t see much beyond the trees, but The Spinner gave a sharp cry then lunged, wrenching his hand away from her and plunging his arms through the force field with the sound of a thousand cymbals crashing together. Belle was thrown back. She landed in a heap on a settee which had been flung against the back wall sending picture frames and plaster dust piling on top of her head. The grandfather clock on the far wall exploded, sending cogs and wheels spinning out in a terrifying display of deadly force. Most of them embedded in the wall above her head, but one managed to find a bit of skin and her vision turned red before she wiped it away.

The Spinner was still half submerged through the portal and was beginning to struggle. He had started to call out to her, but the sound was muffled through the senseless noise of the screaming portal. He was slipping through the wrong way.  Belle jumped up to grab him by the waist and, using all of her strength, drawing upon every last ounce of the love he believed she held,  _pulled_.

 

* * *

 

 

She awoke in darkness.

Belle shifted, aware only of the tiny hurts that peppered her skin but which were already healing though her super powers.

Slowly, a flicker of light appeared though it wasn’t one that came from any discernible source -- it just was just  _there_ now whereas before there was nothing. It grew stronger until she was able to make out the corner of the library. She was in the children’s section, draped over one of the small beanbags. She sat up and looked around wondering why she was back home and if the last four hours had been nothing but a dream.

“You recover quickly, Damselfly. I see why you were such a formidable foe.”

How long had she been out? How long had he been watching her sleep? She snapped her head towards the sound, but he wasn’t hiding and he was no longer disguising his voice. She knew that voice. Had dreams about it. Had fallen in love with it.

She’d been so blind.

She could see him now. The light he’d conjured lit only a small section of the library and he sat in a chair as regally as one could in a chair meant for a five year-old. His son -- Baelfire -- was lying at his feet, wrapped up in a soft wool blanket.

He was a young boy, about seven years old with a mop of unruly hair that sorely needed a wash. He was facing away from her, but she could see the top of his cheek, smudged with grime, but still with that baby soft roundness. He looked thin and ragged, but real and seeing the love that The Spinner (she refused to think of his real name just yet) held in his eyes as he gazed down at him made her heart clench with joy.

She wondered why he’d bothered to bring Baelfire with them since he’d just have to transport the sleeping boy home again, but she realized that any father would be hard pressed to part with his son after a long absence, no matter how safe his house might be. She let the matter slide.

“I’m not your foe. Not any longer.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” he said quietly.

“You still don’t trust me?” she gasped. “Why?”

He was silent for a moment, staring down at his hands before he looked back at her sadly.

“You think this is my disguise, but you’re wrong.  _This_ is my true form. A bit monstrous here,” he said, looking at his hand glitter in the soft light as he turned it this way and that. “I look a bit strange even where I’m from to be honest. I’m afraid my reception in most realms is... Less than welcoming.”

Belle licked at her dry lips. “Wh-where are you from?”

He grinned, wide and toothy as if ready to eat her alive. “Would you like to find out? There are many worlds besides this one. Hundreds of realms just waiting for a young, intrepid do-gooder to explore it.”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. What did one say to that? The knowledge of parallel worlds, of different realms where anything was possible stunned her. The fact that The Spinner wasn’t from here didn’t even faze her, it seemed she always knew that he was different in a way, but the confirmation threw her off. She wanted to see these places and meet new people, but she didn’t even know how to begin. “I…”

He shrugged, as if expecting her automatic rejection. “I expect you’ll find your way to some of them eventually. You’re smart and powerful and the smart and powerful tend to stumble across the right gateway eventually. Just make sure you bring a large stick with you. Not every world is all happy flower unicorn land.” He waggled his fingers, mocking his own words.

She blinked. “Wait.  _Is_ there a happy flower unicorn land?” she asked, scrambling to her feet.

He snorted. “It’s called Disneyland. I’m sure you’ve been.” He slid out of the chair and picked up his son, cradling him in his arms. His gaze was soft and loving and wistful as he looked upon the sleeping boy’s face. “I’m going now. Home. Here,” he said shortly when she began to protest. “He needs his rest and I’m… I’ll admit I'm pretty tired as well. We’ll be staying on this world. At least until he’s older. I’m established here and it’ll be safe with you guarding the town.” He paused, then, his old humor emerging once again, “I could use a vacation to tell the truth.”

She laughed a bit, feeling light headed and more than a little relieved everything was over. They would stop fighting. He could start over. They could begin anew. “I’m glad you found him,  _Spinner_ ,” she told him, placing her hand on his arm and giving it a squeeze. “Thank you for letting me help you.”

He regarded her for a moment, his head cocked to the side. “Perhaps I’ll bring him back to the library,” he said carefully, watching her face for her reaction. “What do you think?”

Heart in her throat, Belle wondered how long he knew. Did she slip up or was he that clever? No one had found out her secret identity in all the years she’d been operating. Did he just figure it out tonight or had he known all along?

She blinked her fear away. If he was going to attack her then he would have. He kept her secret safe just as well as he kept his own and she could appreciate that.

“I think, that every child should have access to books. I believe Miss French would have some recommendations for a child, uh, newly arrived to this country.”

He nodded to her in understanding then, in a blink of an eye, disappeared.

 

* * *

 

 

The next Thursday, Belle sat at her desk, pen in hand trying to give a decent summary of the events that happened the night Baelfire came through the portal. She’d gotten as far as filling out her name and her rank and the date, but there was nothing to say really. She didn’t feel right reporting it -- it wasn’t her story to tell. The whole affair with The Spinner had been so completely muddled from the start that she couldn’t, in good conscious, report the ending. She should just let them go and live their lives as private citizens. That was the right thing to do.

She sighed heavily as she fed the form into the shredder underneath the desk, watching the resulting confetti appear on the other side. She’d have to burn it later lest some miscreant find it and piece it together.

A buttery Scottish brogue startled her.

“Good morning, Miss French.”

Belle’s head whipped up to see Mr. Gold standing on the other side of her desk, his eyes gazing down at her warmly.

“Mr. Gold! Hey!” She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was ten o’clock. She was so wrapped up in her predicament that, for the first time, she’d forgotten that he was coming in that day. “What’s--” She broke off with a startled squeak. Standing next to him was an unruly mop of hair belonging to someone too short to see over the tall counter and Belle stood up, her knees shaking and her heart in her throat, to peer over the desk.

Baelfire grinned up at her and waved enthusiastically. He’d cleaned up marvelously and Belle could tell that The Spinner --  _Mr_.  _Gold_ \-- had spent the last few days feeding him. He wore brand new clothes that still had the store creases in them and, now that the dirt was washed off, she could see a sprinkling of freckles across his cheeks. He looked utterly adorable and she wanted nothing more than to give him a big hug.

“Hi,” he said, shyly waving at her with one hand while the other held his father’s in a tight grip.  She imagined they spent a lot of their time just holding on to each other for fear of being separated again.

Bathroom breaks must be panic inducing.

She glanced at Mr. Gold, who was looking at her nervously. As well he might. He’d just officially revealed his secret identity to her. He’d exposed his newly found son to an enemy.

But she wasn’t an enemy anymore.

“I would like to introduce my son,  _Neal_?” Mr. Gold asked, his voice cracking.

Belle, grinning widely, propped her elbows on the counter, leaned over, and said exactly the right thing. “It’s so lovely to meet you Neal. Let’s get you a library card.”


End file.
